


Vibrations of a Bell

by silklace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 05:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11306457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silklace/pseuds/silklace
Summary: There are a hundred ways this story could go.(Originally written and posted in 2008.)





	Vibrations of a Bell

I.

The first person Sam tells when he gets his acceptance letter is Dean, who picks him up halfway through school the next day and brings him to a sushi restaurant, telling him that he can’t go off to college without ever having tried it.

Dean orders, and the words roll off his tongue like he’s done it a hundred times before. Futomaki, amaebi, maguro. When he asks the waiter for some sake, he makes a drinking gesture that borders on lewd, and leers at Sam across the table. Sam just smiles and shakes his head. He’s missing biology right now.

“Sammy.” He folds his hands, shoulders loose and thrown back.

“Dean,” Sam says, and shrugs out of his jacket.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

“I give. What?”

Dean stares for an uncomfortably long moment, a soft uncharacteristic grin lingering around his mouth, before breaking into a laugh and patting Sam on the cheek. “You’re all grown up, now.”

“I think I was ‘all grown up’ by the time I was ten and could shoot a rifle.”

“Oh, well aren’t you a smart ass.” His hands fiddle with the fork and knife in front of him. “The chicks’ll dig that, Sammy – all those hidden talents.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. It’s a taunt and he knows it -- a small way for Dean to get back at Sam for leaving him behind. He doesn’t say you’re the only one that I want, because Dean doesn’t want to hear it.

They eat the fish, and get buzzed off the sake, and on the way home Dean stops at the liquor store and buys a pack of beer while Sam waits in the car and huffs his breath against the window and writes ‘I love you’ only to smear it away with his palm. They drive up to a grassy, shaded spot on the side of a small hill and get steadily drunk. Sam takes off his shirt and kneels in front of Dean, who can’t stop looking at the miles of skin unveiled before him.

Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, and says, please, and Dean fucks him on their jackets spread out over the ground. Sam can hear the highway just behind them, hidden by a cluster of trees, and his knees ache, but he begs for Dean harder and deeper, because he wants to feel it tomorrow, alone on the bus, wants that ache in his bones that says, It’s me, I’m here.

In the morning, Dean drives him to the bus station and they kiss like lovers before Sam boards and drives away. Dean watches until he’s out of sight.

 

II.

The envelope is thick in his hands, the creamy paper smooth against his fingers. He slits it open in the dingy bathroom of the post office and reads you have been accepted…. The dizziness comes on too quickly, and before he can register what’s happening he’s slumping to the floor, heaving into the toilet and watching his lunch come up. He flushes and presses his mouth to the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and it smells like Dean. He crumples the letter into a ball and throws it into the toilet.

Someone bangs on the door and Sam scrambles to his feet as he hears his father yell for him to hurry up. Hurry up because Dean’s waiting, Dean’s waiting at the hospital, where he’s got sixteen stitches stretching up his side after he jumped in front of a werewolf that was itching to get its teeth around Sam’s heart. He breathes again, and --

He could scream.

 

III.

Dean says, you’re gonna need this more than me, and shoves a wad of cash into his hand, money earned through odd jobs and hustling, and pushes Sam away, hard and cold with his palms flat on his chest. He backs away, moving towards the door to the bar where Sam’s found him. A group of people, jostling one another and with smiling eyes, spill out of the doors, and Sam’s jaw clenches.

Dean tips the bottle to his mouth and his eyes are slits and his hands are clenched. When the people are gone, he nods once, as if he’s convinced himself of something, and Sam can tell he’s drunk. He says his name, warily, once, but Dean shakes his head and backs away another step.

“You should call me sometime, Dean.” His voice is firm, but he won’t look at his brother, instead only at the black outline of the parking lot, the cars hulking and dead. The shape of his brother’s absence is already starting to gape open, has been since Dean found the acceptance letter six months ago, as their silences became more tense and they forgot the way they fit together. They were both cold and angry and they couldn’t stop from cutting themselves open on the jagged edges of each other.

The condensation on Dean’s fingers from his bottle leave wet streaks on Sam’s cheeks when he kisses him. Dean puts his hand over his mouth afterwards and looks as if he’s going to cry, but turns away instead.

He doesn’t look back, and neither does Sam.

 

IV.

He’s got his hand wrapped around the length of Dean’s dick when he asks him.

Dean jerks, “Aha, oh no, you can not ask those kinds of questions during these kind of situations.”

Sam licks his neck and tightens his grip. “What kind of situations?”

“Fuck, Sammy.”

Sam leans in closer. “Just imagine it. The two of us all the time, in a place all our own. I know you’ve always wanted me to do you over a table. I could suck you off every morning, Dean.”

Dean groans at Sam’s words, so close, so close, so close –

“I know you like to hear me scream, I’d be so loud for you.” And just like that Dean snaps and comes all over Sam’s palm. He slumps back against the wall, breathing hard. “Let me think about it.”

Sam reaches up to adjust Dean’s visor, Charlie’s Chicken House stamped across the front. “Yeah.” He swallows. “You should get back to work.” He thinks about not letting Dean kiss him before he leaves the stall of the bathroom restaurant, but he searches out Dean’s mouth first, anyways.

Later, when Sam’s packing and re-packing in their bedroom Dean comes in forty minutes after his shift ends and leans up against the door. He coughs. “Okay.”

Sam looks up from matching socks. A smile spreads across his face and he says, “What?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You heard me. ‘Sides, somebody’s gotta look after the college boy.”

“Is that what Dad said.” Sam’s voice goes suddenly cold.

“No, dipshit, it’s what I said when I told Dad. Look, just – leave it, okay.” He’s halfway out the door when he ducks back in and says, “Oh, and don’t forget to pack my nice boots, Sammy.”

In the morning, their Dad is gone but on the table is a three pound bag of salt, with a note that says, Be safe, boys.

V.

Sam’s mouth has tasted like ash ever since he came home from school to find Dean and John huddled around the kitchen table with his acceptance letter.

The screaming starts not long after that, in his head, out of his mouth, as he tells them he’s not a puppet, he wasn’t born to do this, that he wants normalcy, a hundred things he’s said before but that are meaningless now when Dean’s staring at him like he’s a stranger.

He’s already got his bag hitched over his shoulder when his father tells him not to come back.

He smiles bitterly, and walks out the door, across the driveway, stands at the edge of their gloomy rented house in the middle of nowhere. He kicks the mailbox, and laughs at himself, acting like a teenager. If only his dad could see him now.

He’s watching the rainy drizzle and wondering how long it’ll take to get to the bus station when the screen door creaks open behind him.

Dean’s face is blank. “You can still come back. We’ll forget about it. Everything will be fine by tomorrow.” He keeps the door open with his forearm, steps out on to the slatted porch.

Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. Dean moves back a little, as if to make room for his brother to step back into the house. He closes his eyes. “C’mon, Sammy.”

The laugh that bubbles from Sam’s throat is horrible and mean, and he waits for the look of hurt to flash across Dean’s face before turning away.

The road is long and empty, and Sam starts walking. He has miles to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback welcome and loved. <3


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